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"We're rock stars," Frank says firmly. "We're not moving back to live in our parents' basements."
"Ray is." Gerard yawns and then coughs, tucking himself more closely under the blanket on the couch in the bus lounge. He'd caught Frank's cold - fuck, everyone on tour had caught Frank's cold, and now Bob was calling him Typhoid Mary and Gerard, through his coughing, took every opportunity to correct him and say that Typhoid Mary hadn't actually been the sick one, just the asymptomatic carrier, and since Frank was the one who'd been disease-ridden all tour, well -
That was usually about the point Frank would shove the covers over Gerard's head in an effort to get him to shut the fuck up.
"Ray," Frank points out, "is marrying Christa about twenty minutes after we get home. He won't be in the basement long."
Gerard coughs again, pressing his face against the blanket, and nods. "You're not wrong." He's blinking sleepily, and his hair is pushed up in an epic tangled wave at the back of his head. His cheeks are pretty red, which means he's probably running a fever, and yeah, it's a day in, so that's probably about right.
Frank feels fine himself - he's had the same cold three fucking times in the last couple of months, and it's pretty much the same each time: coughing, exhaustion, fever for about a week, then he's back to one hundred percent. Gerard takes it harder than Frank does, though - like, he takes it personally even though he's not the one who gets sick every time there's a stiff breeze.
"So listen." This might be either the best or the worst time to have this conversation, but Frank's gonna give it a shot. "I think we should get a place."
Gerard nods, his eyes closing as he yawns. "We can check craigslist," he says, and coughs. "Find an apartment."
"We're rock stars," Frank says again, even more firmly. "We're not getting a shitty apartment."
"Oh." Gerard's nearly asleep - he's limp against the couch and his breathing is getting deep and even. "Okay."
"We should buy a house." Frank gets a shiver down his spine when he says it - it makes it real, this idea that's been running around in his head for ages now. He looks at Gerard to see if he feels it, too.
Gerard is breathing with his mouth open, and one hand is curled just outside the covers. He's completely out - Frank definitely misjudged the pacing of this conversation. Still, he'd gotten through "not a basement in someone's parents' house" and "not an apartment," so that didn't leave too much else. Hopefully Gerard had gotten it from the context.
Frank sits back and sighs, feeling the road rolling by underneath them through the rumbling of the wheels. He doesn't really remember what it feels like not to be on tour. He's kind of been doing this his entire adult life. His mom's basement, avoiding paying rent. A spectacularly shitty apartment in Kearny that he'd shared with Mikey - they'd never gotten past lawn chairs and a futon in the living room, a table with a busted leg and three mismatched chairs in the kitchen. Days and weeks in a van, driving as far up and down the east coast as it would take them. And longer days and weeks and months and, fuck, years at this point, in a tour bus, driving, driving, driving.
It's better than flying, that much is for sure, but he's done. He's so motherfucking done. Not forever, just for right now, but - for right now, he wants more than wheels against the asphalt. He wants more than his mom's basement, with the washing machine chugging away eight feet from his bed. He wants more than lawn chairs and furniture off the street on trash day.
He wants a house.
*
"A house," Gerard says slowly, when Frank plants his laptop firmly in front of him on the desk. Gerard had been, like - sorting his pencils? Frank thinks? and had batted at Frank when he shoved himself up beside him, but he's blinking at the computer now, and flipping through all of the open tabs from ReMax. "I mean - are you serious?"
"I am serious." Frank flops down on Gerard's (tiny. twin.) bed by the desk. Because they are, in fact, living in their (respective) parents' basements while they figure this out. They've spent the last week barely seeing each other, just sleeping, and eating food that wasn't out of a mini-fridge or from a gas station or off of a rider, and talking to their families, and sleeping. Frank has showered twice a day at least. It's glorious and his mom keeps yelling at him not to use her good shampoo and conditioner, but he doesn't stop. He smells like soap and flowers all the time. He's never getting past how good that feels.
"How can we - " Gerard trails off, his head tilting as he stops on the tab Frank had known he would stop at. Frank had left it open on the picture of the giant room at the top of that particular house, which is flooded with natural light in the picture, gleaming off of the wood floors and exposed beams in the ceiling. "That's a nice studio space," Gerard murmurs to himself.
Frank grins and wriggles a little bit on the bed. He drags his hair forward over his face so he can smell it again - God, no sweat, no dirt, no grease, just clean freshness.
"We can do it," he explains. "Because we've been working for the past, oh, ever." Gerard's scrolling through the rest of the pictures and, Frank's pretty sure, not listening that closely. "And we made money during that time. And saved that money." Frank frowns at Gerard. "I have a savings account, which I check every month. You don't check yours every month. But I know you made money, too, because you've got Brian, and Brian got you an accountant." Frank chews on his lip, watching Gerard lean even closer to the computer screen. "Who I am guessing checks your savings account for you."
"Paul," Gerard says absently. "He's supposed to be good. Hey, fuck, look at that basement!"
"We're not sleeping in the basement," Frank says.
"No, I'm just saying there's a lot of space, you know?" Gerard gets to the bottom of the page, and clicks back up to the top, where the price is listed. He blanches, and when he swivels around, the old chair creaking under him, he's got his hand up to his mouth, gnawing on his cuticles. "No one's gonna sell us a house, Frankie. We're apartment people, not house people."
"I'm house people," Frank says firmly. "We're house people. People much less worthy than us get houses."
Gerard frowns and chews on his hand.
"C'mere." Frank sits up and reaches out to hook his foot around Gerard's ankle. He drags him closer, the wheels of the chair squeaking in protest. When he gets Gerard within reach, he reaches up to grab his shirt and haul him forward onto the bed. Gerard tumbles down, giggling and protesting, and only a very swift block means Frank's thigh gets kneed instead of his balls as Gerard lands on top of him.
"Sorry," Gerard says breathlessly, and Frank lifts his head and kisses him.
Gerard does this little gasp, like he's surprised. Like this is new and different and unexpected, which is what he does almost every time Frank kisses him. It's probably fucked up that Frank gets off on it.
Gerard relaxes into the kiss, sprawled heavy and warm on top of Frank, and Frank pushes his fingers up under the hem of Gerard's shirt. Gerard smells....clean, and only a little like smoke, and Frank thinks that even Gee had hit his breaking point of not having access to showers on a regular basis. He curls up around Gerard, reveling in it - soft, clean skin, quiet, not a moving vehicle or stiff hotel room sheets, just Gerard's blankets underneath them.
"Fuck," Gerard mumbles against Frank's mouth, happily, and Frank squirms underneath him, until Gerard shoves him down, hard, and then almost falls off the bed when the knee he'd planted slides off the edge. "Fuckin' twin bed."
"We need a big bed." Frank brings his hand sliding around to Gerard's side under his shirt, and Gerard squeaks, high-pitched.
"Stop, it tickles." He pushes Frank back down again, hard, and fuck yeah, Frank could get into that.
"A queen sized," Frank says softly, as Gerard looks down at him. "Maybe even a king?"
"You're too far away in a king," Gerard objects.
"Okay, queen." Frank lifts his hips up - he's pretty hard already, and all they've been doing is necking like teenagers. "It's more appropriate anyway, princess."
Gerard snickers, and sinks down against him, and oh, okay, now they're kissing seriously. Gerard's going for it, right here in the dim, dusty room where he'd grown up. He's pinning Frank down with his hips, curling his hands under Frank's shoulders, and making these soft, sort of shuddery sounds against Frank's mouth. Frank's really hard now, but Jesus fucking Christ, he can hear Gerard's mom puttering around upstairs, the fridge door opening and closing, because the door at the top of the stairs isn't even shut.
Adults or not, rock stars or not, Frank's not taking his dick out if there's any possibility of Gerard's mom walking in and catching them.
Still. Gerard's mouthing down the line of Frank's jaw, and God, that makes Frank's toes curl in his sneakers. He tightens his fingers in the back of Gerard's t-shirt, tilting his head back. "What's your credit rating like?" he pants out.
"I - what?" Gerard stops mouthing Frank's skin and lifts his head up.
It's not exactly what Frank had meant to say, but fuck it, he's not putting out in Gerard's mom's basement. "I'm just - " Frank has to stop for a second and catch his breath. He's got shitty lungs to begin with, but also Gerard is still rock-hard against his thigh, and they haven't even seen each other since they got back. Frank's pretty sure the last time he got laid - like, really laid, not jerked off in a bunk - was in a hotel in Missouri. "Just," he manages to get out. "I just was curious."
Gerard's staring down at him with his mouth open, and wet, and, Jesus, hot. Frank wants to stick his dick in it.
"Really fucking shitty," Gerard says finally. "They gave me a credit card when I was eighteen." His head droops down a little, until it's resting on Frank's shoulder. "It was all downhill from there."
"Well." Frank pushes his fingers comfortingly into the waist of Gerard's jeans. "You've got money, though."
"Paul," Gerard mutters.
"Frank," Frank corrects him.
"Paul the accountant," Gerard says grumpily, and rolls off of Frank.
"Exactly." Frank pauses to adjust his dick in his jeans - Jesus, he's fucking hard - and rolls over to press against Gerard's side. "You've got cash, and that means a down payment, and honestly, that's all they care about, really."
Gerard's lying on his back, staring glumly at the stained drop ceiling of the basement, but he's still got a giant boner tenting his jeans, so things can't be that dire. "What's your credit like?" he asks bitterly.
"Really good." Frank shrugs - he can't help it, his mom raised him to never borrow, never charge anything he couldn't pay off in a month, and pay all his bills on time. It was why he'd gotten so good at finding people who'd let the band crash with them at the early gigs. He never had enough money for a hotel room, and he wasn't going to put it on a card and fuck with his credit rating for three shitty hours of sleep.
Gerard tilts his head and makes a face at him. "Ugh. Fuck you."
Frank shrugs again, unapologetic. "My perfect credit, your pretty face, our combined finances - we're good to go, Gee, and you know it."
Gerard's still doing that face, like he's about to start gnawing on his thumbnail and stop making any adult decisions. "We can't just buy a house, Frank, that's not even -"
Frank rolls on top of him, pinning him to the bed with his thigh between Gerard's legs. Gerard cuts himself off, sucking in his breath and curling his fingers into the sides of Frank's hoodie. "We can," Frank says, softly, and rocks up against Gerard.
"No one's gonna -" Gerard trails off, clearly losing the thread as Frank kisses him, soft, and then kisses him again, dirty and deep.
"They will." Frank shifts down the bed, curling up on his knees, and unbuckling Gerard's belt with one hand.
"You don't know." Gerard's voice is faint, as Frank gets his jeans open, slides one hand inside. "I just - oh God." Frank curls his hand around Gerard's dick, drags it out of his jeans, his mouth fucking watering just thinking about sucking him off. "We shouldn't -"
"We should." Frank's talking about the house, because they really fucking shouldn't be doing this, not here, not in the middle of the fucking day, with Gerard's mom's footsteps going by aimlessly overhead. "We're gonna." And now he's talking about both things, as he takes Gerard into his mouth, and Gerard gasps, way too loud, and flings one arm over his face to block the sound as Frank takes him in as deep as he knows how.
Fucking basement blowjobs, Frank thinks hazily, as Gerard's hips jerk up, shoving his cock into his mouth. He guesses no one ever really gets over those.
*
"Why is she here?" Gerard asks out of the side of his mouth as he awkwardly stands in a closet.
"You need a realtor to get to see these places," Frank says reasonably, and gets into the closet with Gerard. It's really huge in here. Like, probably bigger than his first bedroom, and the shelves go about three feet over his head. He'd need a stepladder to get to his stuff. "She's got six places lined up to show us today."
The two of them stand there silently for a moment, gazing up at the shelves. "Do you like it?" Frank asks.
"It's a closet," Gerard shrugs.
"Not just the closet, the house."
"I don't know," Gerard hedges. "This is weird. It's like playing a video game. Like, 'what would you do if you could create a house.' It doesn't seem real."
"It's real." Frank had met with the bank and they're pre-qualified for a decent mortgage. A really decent mortgage. They don't care about Gerard's credit - he's been fine for years now, and for the older stuff they just wanted a couple of letters explaining what the issue had been, and how it's changed now. The big thing was the down payment and the words "twenty percent down" went a long way, apparently. They're not married, but they're co-signers on the mortgage, and the realtor lady doesn't seem to be blinking an eye at the two of them spending kind of a long time in the closet.
Gerard looks at him with worried eyes. "No one's gonna let us buy a house, Frankie."
"They are." Frank loops his arms around Gerard's waist and looks at him. It feels - really fucking weirdly domestic. "I promise. I have the pre-qualification paperwork right here in my pocket."
"I don't even know exactly what that means," Gerard frets.
"It means it's fine." Frank kisses him. "It means we get to buy a house. I promise."
"I don't know." Gerard drags his feet as Frank tugs him out of the closet. "What if -" He bites his lip. "I mean, how do you know -"
"There you boys are!" Sheila, the realtor, exclaims, rounding the corner into the bedroom as they emerge from the closet. "Have you seen the studio space?"
Gerard shoots Frank this absolutely delighted glance and says, "Show us!" as he heads off after Sheila's departing back. Frank sort of loves Sheila. She may be wearing a beige business skirt-suit, but she's really sweet. She even does this swoop around to open the curtains in the studio, and drops a wink at Frank behind Gerard's back. He loves Sheila.
Gerard likes the idea of the studio/sunroom. But Frank can see him getting all twitchy about how it's right at ground level and people can see in and there's a lot of sun in the sunroom and -
"It's a little exposed, you know?" Frank explains, watching Gerard practically eating his hand as he gnaws on his nails. Frank gestures to the window. "The street is right there."
"No, okay, good, I get it." Sheila's nodding and jotting down swift notes. "Tell me stuff like this, okay?" She pushes her bangs back out of her face. Frank thinks she must be kind of cute when she's not in an ugly business suit. "It'll help me find the right place for you."
He grins at her and says, "I trust you," and she beams at him, flushing. He grins harder, and puts his arm around Gerard's waist, tugs him close.
Gerard cheeks go as red as Sheila's at that, and they're hot when Frank presses his mouth against one. "It'll be fine," Frank says, to them both. "It'll be great."
*
They look at six houses the first day, because Frank's been scouring the real estate listings and he's got a plan, okay? Only things sort of go downhill after the first place - they see a couple of condos which are really just glorified apartments, and Frank's lived in enough places with neighbors banging on the ceiling for him to keep it down when he's just having a simple jam session. He wants a house.
They see three other one-family houses and none of them are right. None of them hit quite on what he's got in the back of his mind. He can't quite put it into words, shrugging at Sheila helplessly as they head out of the last place. She tells them she'll send them some more listings in a few days, and Gerard groans quietly beside Frank. He's dragging - he's really, really done with the hunt for the day, and it's really, really clear. To be fair, he was probably done about an hour ago.
The ride home is quiet and Gerard sighs a little when he gets out of the car. Frank bumps him with his shoulder as they head down Frank's mom's driveway. "Long day," he says.
Gerard grumbles to himself and then yawns hugely. Frank yawns back - neither of them are really caught up with sleep, yet. "My mom cooked last night." Frank digs his keys out of his pocket and lets them in the back door. "There's veggie lasagna in the fridge, and -"
Gerard's shaking his head. "Maybe later." He yawns again, and Frank says, "Coffee?"
"God, yes, please."
Frank knows how to make him happy. He makes them both coffee, and grabs some Cheetos, tucking the bag under his arm as he nudges Gerard towards the basement door. Gerard makes grabby hands for the coffee, and Frank hands it over - he'd given Gerard the biggest mug in the cabinet, and it's extra sweet and Gerard is burying his face in it even as he heads down the stairs.
Frank's room is somewhat cleaner than Gerard's, but almost as cluttered. It smells stale, and shoots him right back to his teenage years, and his early twenties - makes him think about coming home from a weekend of gigs and partying, sleeping in someone else's bed, not changing clothes from Friday to Sunday, feeling like a rockstar but still going back home to his mom's place after.
Gerard toes his sneakers off and climbs onto Frank's bed - he's got a twin, too, and it's really fucking ridiculous to be twenty-seven years old and sleeping in a twin bed. Frank never made it this morning, so Gerard just tugs the covers over his feet and curls up against Frank's pillows, cradling his mug against his chest. His hair is a little messy - he runs his fingers through it when he's nervous, so it's sort of crazy right now - and he's wearing a hoodie, zipped up, even though it's incredibly warm and sunny out. He yawns again. "What happens if we don't find something?"
"We'll find something." Frank knows in his gut that this is the right thing. Gerard knows it, too, it's just that the dude doesn't handle change very well. Getting off the road is weird enough - getting off the road and then adding this on top of it is kind of a lot of change. Frank gets it, but - "We'll find something," he says again, shoving his shoes off and putting his coffee down on the bedside table.
He climbs into bed, on top of Gerard, who makes worried noises and pushes Frank back with one hand until he takes another gulp of coffee. Then he reluctantly lets Frank take the mug away from him and set it down next to Frank's own. "You're annoying," he informs Frank.
"I'm awesome," Frank corrects, and kisses him. Gerard smells like fresh air and cigarettes, which is a super weird combination for him, and he's still grumbling a little, but his hands are on Frank's hips, tugging him down close. Gerard's pretty much half-hard already, which is also awesome, and Frank goes for it, kissing Gerard hard and deep, until Gerard's panting against his mouth, and hitching his hips up as Frank rocks down against him, both of them really fucking hard, really fucking fast. Frank feels dizzy with it, and with Gerard's hot hands sliding down the back of his jeans, fingers inching their way in.
"When does your mom get home?" Gerard says it low and sexy against his lips.
Frank pulls back. "Uh-uh." He's hard and hot and wanting it, and he can barely get the words out, because he's fighting giggles, trying to keep his stern face on. "You did not just ask me that. This is why -" He pokes Gerard in the chest, while Gerard looks up at him, distracted and turned-on. "This is why we're buying our own place."
Gerard sticks his lip out, looking a little tragic as he rocks his dick up against Frank.
"No, nuh-uh, nope." Frank crosses his arms over his chest, still laughing. "What time does my mom get home. Jesus, Gee, do you hear us? Did you think we'd be worrying about stuff like that when we were in our twenties? And you, I mean, come on man, you're thirty."
"Barely," Gerard says, looking shifty, and oh, right, Frank's pretty sure he did think he'd just keep living in his mom's basement in between tours for the rest of his life. Gerard is totally a guy with goals, with vision, but - that doesn't cover every aspect of his life. "And yeah, I mean, I get it, Frankie, I want it, too..."
Frank's not sure they're talking about wanting the same thing, because Gerard has slid his hands around to the front of Frank's jeans, where his dick is pressed hard against the denim. He's thumbing open the button, and fumbling for the zipper when Frank, though sheer strength of will, wraps one hand around Gerard's wrist. "We're not fucking in my mom's basement."
Gerard frowns. "We could -"
"Or in your mom's basement," Frank cuts him off.
Gerard frowns harder. "Frankie," he says, and he doesn't sound pouty, or whiney - he's using that soft, fucking hot as hell sex voice that shouldn't work on Frank after all this time, it just shouldn't get him going, not like this. But he can't help it, he fucking shudders as Gerard says his name again, and presses the palm of his hand, warm and firm, against Frank's dick in his jeans. "Frank, fuck, I just need - God, I can't stop thinking about it. I want to fuck you so bad."
Frank bites his lip. "Not in my mom's basement." His voice comes out a little wobbly. "Fuck."
Gerard's looking up at him, and moving his hips, not very much, just a little, just this unsteady rhythm, like he's not even doing it on purpose.
"Just." Gerard's eyes flutter closed for a second, as he sucks in a breath. "It's been such a long fucking time, Frankie. I don't even - I'm not even sure fucking when -"
"Missouri," Frank says, his voice coming out hot and breathless. "I think."
"Fucking Missouri," Gerard pants it out, laughing a little, his voice cracking. "Jesus, I'm hard."
He really fucking is. Hugely hard, and his face is flushed, his eyes are hot, and the worst fucking part of it is, Frank doesn't know when his mom is coming home. "We can't," he says. He's going for firm, but it comes out a little desperate.
"Frankie." Gerard's got Frank's zipper down now, and has slipped his hand in, cupping Frank through his shorts. "Fuck, fuck, you feel so fucking good, just tell me we can -"
"We can't," Frank says again, but he's also clambering off of Gerard, because if he doesn't get his jeans off, he's gonna fucking come in them, and he's had really more than enough of feeling like he's a teenager all over again without adding that particular aspect of it to the situation. "We really can't - fuck, hang on." He's got his jeans halfway down his thighs, but he hauls them back up, hanging onto them as he bolts to the top of the stairs, slides home the lock he'd put in back in high school, and hobbles back down the stairs.
"We're famous, you know," he says as he hits the bottom of the stairs. "We shouldn't have to worry about -"
He cuts himself off, because Gerard has his jeans down his thighs, his dick in his hand, and he's jerking himself off, slow, sort of letting his whole hand just cup the length of his dick, all the way to the top, sliding his palm over the head where it's damp, leaking, then letting his hand run all the way back down.
Frank's so fucking turned on he can't breathe. He wants Gerard's dick in him, like, yesterday.
"This is such a bad idea." He's stripping his jeans off, dragging his shorts down at the same time, and Gerard just moans, watching him. "You gotta be quiet," Frank tells him, yanking his t-shirt off and climbing back on the bed. "And you gotta take your fucking pants off, Jesus, come on, now."
Gerard complies, shoving his jeans down and off, and Frank unzips his hoodie, helps get it off of him, and the t-shirt, too, and now Gerard is sprawled there on his bed, hard and hot and so pale, his chest flushed halfway down, he's so turned on. Frank has to stop for a second, swallow, try to get a hold of himself. "Fuck, I don't even know which way I want it." He kind of wants to climb on top of Gerard, get Gerard to open him up with his fingers, fast and good and deep, before letting Frank just sink down and ride him.
But when Frank gets on the bed, naked and hard and just fucking desperate for it, Gerard makes this choking sound in his throat, and says, "Oh God, fuck, yeah, I -" and fucking grabs him, hanging on tight and dragging him down, pushing him over onto his front. "Fuck, Frank, Jesus, I haven't seen this much of you in -"
He doesn't finish his sentence, because he's got his mouth busy on Frank, licking the tattoos on his back, fuck, tracing messily over the words with his tongue, sliding down to lick the guns at the small of his back, holding on to Frank's hips tightly as he does it. Frank's panting against the covers, Jesus, really fucking hard, fisting the blanket in his hands as Gerard's tongue moves so hot across his skin.
"Fuck," Frank manages to get out desperately. "Fuck, Gee, we gotta be fast, please just fucking do it, just fucking -"
Gerard does, and it is fucking fast. Gerard fucks him with his fingers, fast and slick and rough, for long enough that Frank is moaning helplessly with his face against the blankets, shoving his hips back and fucking begging for it. Then Gerard slides his fingers out, saying, "Jesus fucking Christ, Frankie, look at you, holy fuck, I gotta -"
He slides in to Frank, his cock feeling huge and so fucking hard, and it's been a while, it's been a fucking while. Frank wants it, he's fucking panting out curses against the bed, holding still, feeling Gerard's hands, slippery with sweat and lube, slide on his hips.
Gerard's got him shoved against the bed, and he fucks him exactly as hard and fast and sweet as Frank's been wanting so badly. Frank comes before Gerard does, jerking himself off as Gerard fucks him, and Frank is pretty sure he yells way too fucking loud when he jerks hard and comes all over the bed, trembling with it, his face buried in the pillow.
Gerard's panting real loud behind him, muttering, "Christ, fuck, Christ," and his hips stutter, losing their rhythm as he sort of just grinds into Frank, rocking deep inside him, just barely jerking his hips, panting out, "Ah, fuck, fuck, Frank, I'm - I don't -"
Frank's lost in it, hazy and limp, his knees buckling, just letting Gerard fuck him until Gerard whimpers, desperately, then bites Frank's shoulder as he comes deep inside him.
Frank makes a completely ridiculous groaning noise - fuck, it feels so fucking good, just having Gerard shaking so hard behind him - and his knees go out entirely. Gerard follows him down to the bed, still inside him, both of them sweat-soaked and limp.
"Frank?"
Frank's eyes snap open. It's his mom's voice. It's his mom's voice, calling down from upstairs.
"Frankie, you home?"
"Fuck." Gerard's frozen behind him, his dick still inside Frank. "Oh, fuck."
"Home!" Frank manages to call back. He wriggles his hips, shoving Gerard back and out, both of them gasping as Gerard slides out. "Home, up in a sec, Ma!"
"Oh God, she's not going to try the door, is she?" Gerard seems frozen, sprawled naked beside him, and Jesus Christ, Frank hopes not.
"I don't know," Frank whispers frantically. He's shoving himself off the bed - fuck, he landed in the wet spot, his own come streaked all over his belly. "Fuck, dude, c'mon, pants."
He flings Gerard's jeans at Gerard's head, and the two of them fucking scramble to get their clothes back on. When Frank emerges, panting, from the neck of his t-shirt, Gerard has his jeans on (one pants leg stuck halfway up, looking ridiculous) and he's just tugging his t-shirt on, his hair is in his face, some of it stuck in his mouth as he emerges. He spits it out as he hops on one foot, trying to fix his jeans.
"We gotta go, before she tries the door," Frank says urgently. "You know she'll know, and she'll totally bring it up over dinner. You know I'm right, you've met my mom."
"Okay, okay." Gerard shoves his feet into his sneakers, and Frank's heading up the stairs as Gerard's still trying to get his hoodie sleeves right side out. Gerard slips through the door a few seconds behind Frank, looking grumpy and disheveled. "We gotta get our own place," he mutters.
"My point," Frank says, triumphantly, and Gerard groans, but nods.
*
House-hunting, as it turns out, continues to kind of suck. It's an exercise in frustration - what things look like on paper aren't what they turn out to be in real life, and Frank knew that going in, but there's only so many places in their price range, in the neighborhoods they're looking in. It's fucking frustrating to see a place that looks perfect on paper turn out to be a house that looks about a half a step away from being condemned.
"If you've got some building skills, it's a really good price for a fixer-upper," Sheila offers weakly.
Frank looks at Gerard, who doesn't even justify that with a response. He's busy poking at where the epically terrible wood paneling is lifting off of the walls.
"We're not really handy around the house," Frank explains.
Sheila nods in a way that shows she realizes what a master of the understatement that was.
"Okay," she says. "C'mon. One more place for today."
Gerard looks like Frank feels - tired and discouraged and kind of beaten. He nods, though, and they head out. Sheila hands them the info sheet before they get in their cars. "This one just showed up this morning. I figured it's worth a quick look."
Gerard drives - they're in his really fucking ridiculous Mini that he'd bought the last time they were back in Jersey. He hadn't really had much of a chance to drive it, since they'd been on tour pretty much continuously since then, and he takes this great delight in it every time he slides behind the wheel.
It feels like a clown car to Frank, even though the dashboard is kind of badass, but Gerard says that's because Frank lacks vision.
Frank reads the listing out loud to Gerard as Gerard lights a cigarette, cracks the window, and turns the ipod on, all while backing out the narrow driveway. "That's crazy," Gerard comments. "That much square footage, two bathrooms, and a double garage, in our price range?" He frowns and palms the wheel, letting the tiny car curve gracefully around the corner after Sheila's Corolla. "It's gotta be in, like, Camden."
"It's in Montclair." Frank doesn't believe it either.
"Huh." Gerard takes a long drag and holds it in, then lets the smoke out in this completely theatrical way, but he's totally unaware of it - shit like this just comes naturally to him. "It's going to be a trailer with an attached shed."
"Or a commune of hippies will be occupying it and be part of the deal," Frank says. "Seriously, that's a lot of square feet."
"Or it will come with do-it-yourself walls," Gerard says. "Ceilings optional. Two bathrooms, right?"
"And the top floor has 'fabulous windows that provide natural light in a relaxing setting,'" Frank says absently.
"I want fabulous natural light in a relaxing setting," Gerard says softly. "I really want that."
"Well." Frank leans forward to peer through the windshield at the house numbers. Sheila is slowing down up ahead. "We're here. Looks like we get to find out."
The house is fucking perfect. It's big, but not too big - just enough space that they'll be able to get out of each other's way to practice, or draw, but not so big that they won't be able to find each other. The bathrooms are huge, and one has this giant shower with amazing tiles and a shower head with seven settings that Frank pretty much wants to try out right the fuck now.
It's on this side-street, with a lot of other single-family homes - kids playing in the front yards, people sitting on their front steps, an actual neighborhood. The garage is huge and lined with shelves and just the sort of perfect stay-at-home-dad kind of garage that Frank has always not-so-secretly dreamed of having and filling with, like, a work bench and lawn-care stuff and wrenches and drills that he barely knows how to use, but really wants to own anyway.
It's the top floor that clinches it, though. "The windows are fabulous," Gerard whispers to him. He's got one hand clenched in Frank's hoodie as they walk around the floor. Frank's nearly tiptoeing, like if he makes too much noise, the whole house will disappear like the pipe dream Gerard's been saying this whole thing is.
Gerard's too excited to tiptoe - his boots are making huge clomping echoes as he drags Frank through the space to look out the giant picture windows at either end, the arched ceiling capturing the noise. "Jesus fucking Christ, Frankie." He's whispering, though, like he's feeling it too, that thought that it might fucking disappear if they're not careful enough. "It's fucking perfect, like, fucking perfection. I want to move in now. Today. Can we move in today?"
He's dragging Frank close, and he's grinning this big ridiculous grin. He's got a leather jacket on, that he'd bought last week and pretty much hadn't taken off since, even though it's been about eighty degrees all week. He's excited and his face is flushed and damp with sweat along the hairline, and he's so fucking beautiful that Frank's knees feel weak. It's so fucking insane to feel like this, when he's known Gerard for years and years and seen him at his worst and at his best, but right now, right here in this house that fucking needs to be theirs, he just fucking loves Gerard so much he feels like his heart might explode.
"Probably not today," he says. "But c'mon, let's go make Sheila's day." He turns to head downstairs, but Gerard doesn't let go of his hoodie. He makes this sort of happy-excited sound and he's grinning with his whole face, his eyes lit up and his cheeks red, and he pulls Frank in close, kisses him. Just an easy, simple kiss, no tongue, just soft and intimate and Frank's whole body shudders, just from that.
"I love this house," Gerard says softly. "And I love you." He kisses him again. "But mostly, I love this house."
He's smiling against Frank's lips, and Frank shoves him away, and they're both cracking up, then clattering down the stairs, footsteps echoing through the entire place. What's gonna be their place, if Frank and his bank account have anything to say about it. "Sheila!" he bellows. "Sheila, c'mere, and talk to me about how we make an offer!"
Sheila's at the foot of the stairs, looking up at them and beaming. "You got it, Frank."
*
"Moving is hell," Frank gasps, lunging up the last few steps and letting the giant box of Venetian masks slide out of his hands and land on the floor.
"Huh?" Gerard is on the floor next to box full of action figures, one knee up, one leg curled underneath him, hair falling around his face as he carefully shuffles through the box.
"Go lift something heavy," Frank demands. "Right the fuck now."
"That's why we hired movers," Gerard says, looking up and pushing his hair out of his face. "Look, Frankie, I found my Data!"
Frank just stares at him grimly.
"From 'All Good Things,'" Gerard persists. "See, look at his hair."
They'd hired movers for most of the stuff, but Frank's mom's car is parked outside, crammed full of the "delicate" stuff deemed too precious to trust to the movers. And Gerard's Mini is parked haphazardly behind it, stuffed to the brim with open boxes of art supplies and looking kind of like some sort of art installation all on its own, with jars of brushes and pens, a flurry of paper in a bunch of different colors, everything pressed up against the window like it's yearning to be free.
Frank doesn't want to tell Gerard that, 'cause he's pretty sure the car could become Gerard's own personal art installation project or something if he did.
He just stands over Gerard, arms crossed, frowning, until Gerard tucks Data carefully back in the box and gets to his feet. Frank's expecting contrition, but Gerard just pushes Frank backwards until he hits the wall, and then Gerard kisses him soft and sweet. "This is so great, Frankie," he says, sounding joyful. "You were right."
"I was totally right." Frank kisses Gerard back. Gerard's got his fingers up under Frank's t-shirt, not seeming to care that it's soaked with sweat, that Frank's back is sticky with it. "But moving is hell, so come on downstairs and help, princess."
"Right." Gerard kisses him one more time, then lets Frank tug him down the stairs. They're hand in hand when they hit the ground floor, and Frank thinks the movers might give them a look or something, but they mostly just seem miserable as they haul boxes of books up to the second floor.
Frank's dragging Gerard out to the car - Mikey is on his way, supposedly, with more coffee, which is how he got out of helping unload - and Frank's cousins are lined up for later to do the last haul from Frank's mom's house. It helps that they don't have much furniture yet - the couch is currently a futon, and they have Frank's mom's old dining room set, a shitload of bookcases, and an older TV that's gonna have to be replaced real soon if Frank has anything to say about it.
"What time is the bed getting delivered?" Gerard asks, pulling to a halt at the bottom of the outside stairs so he can fish his smokes out of his jacket. He lights one, tilting his head to breathe out smoke up to the blue summer sky up above.
Frank checks his phone. "A couple of hours." They'd bought a real bed, an adult bed, a pillowtop queen (which is what Frank said he'd be calling Gerard from now on, once he'd seen the name).
Gerard grins around the cigarette. "Gotta try it out right away," he says. "Make sure it works right."
The look Gerard is giving Frank is really fucking dirty, and he's snaked one arm around Frank's waist. Frank's got his mouth open to tell him exactly what he's going to do to him later, to make sure the bed is nice and sturdy, when he hears, "Hello, neighbors!"
He swings around, letting Gerard step back, to see a middle-aged lady standing near the house next door, waving over at them. He waves back uncertainly.
"You boys just moving in?" She heads over towards them, hand outstretched, and Frank shakes it, introducing himself and Gerard.
"Yep! Nice neighborhood!" Gerard is smiling, friendly, and he looks a little weird, sure, in bright sunlight with his leather jacket on, but hey, Frank's pretty sure this lady has seen worse.
"It is!" She peers up at their house. "You just bought it?"
"Yep!" Gerard says it again, same exact tone, like he can't stop now that he's gotten going.
"Both of you? Together?" She asks it like she's trying to figure them out.
Frank smiles real nicely, and echoes Gerard. "Yep!"
"You and your...brother?" she asks, looking back and forth between the two of them.
"Uh." Frank shakes his head. "No, we're - together." He really doesn't want to get into the logistics of this right here in their new driveway, but he's not fucking hiding anything either.
"Oh." She frowns.
Frank frowns, too, and when he looks back over his shoulder, Gerard's frowning even harder, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth and tapping on his cigarette butt like it kicked his dog.
Bigoted Neighbor Lady is studying them. "You got kids?" she asks finally.
"Uh." Frank shoots Gerard another look over his shoulder. "No?"
"Well." She gives Frank the once-over. "It's okay, you're young. You boys have got time."
Frank grins widely at Open-Minded Neighbor Lady. "I don't know, he's getting up there in age." He gestures at Gerard, who sticks his tongue out at him.
"You're both just kids yourselves," she says, shaking her head and smiling at them. "You got plenty of time. Hey, could I bum one of those?"
Gerard is grinning huge and real as he shakes out one of his cigarettes and hands it over, then digs his lighter out of his jeans pocket and lights it for her, too.
Frank thinks they're both gonna like this neighborhood.
*
the end